


Changing of Seasons

by Phrenotobe



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, Hades and Persephone - Fandom, Homestuck
Genre: (mythological ones), Everyone tagged has a speaking part, F/F, Zombies, rosemary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-02-03 00:30:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1724543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phrenotobe/pseuds/Phrenotobe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You can split the year,” Rose said, her voice barely above a whisper.<br/>Kanaya’s hand paused above the plate for moments, before she gathered the last of the seeds and tipped them into her mouth to swallow them whole.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Changing of Seasons

**Author's Note:**

> Remember when it turned out that Rose was Hades and Kanaya was Persephone and it all worked out in the end?

The moth that followed Kanaya as she went about the confines of her oasis compound was partially her guardian, and partially her mother figure, and perpetually never let her out of her sight. However, Moths get confused in daylight, and Kanaya was a creature of the sun; as was her mother, the goddess Dolorosa.  
Kanaya was aware that where she trod, flowers grew and bloomed, though other than a party trick, it wasn’t very good. She could touch a tree, too, with literally green fingers, encouraging it to grow and bloom, to bear fruit and stand strong. Other than that, she was quite lonely in the garden where she lived, waiting for the time when she would be of use. She was used to waiting.

One day, shortly after Kanaya reached her majority, she found that her guardian had gone missing from her side, the flutter of wings no longer a constant and invisible whisper. Though her emotion at the fact was short-lived, she noted a broad-shouldered and cloaked figure standing under a fig tree, deep in conversation with the moth mother. Their face was hidden under their hood and they gestured minimally as they talked, their voice a low, androgynous monotone. The tree itself was bending toward the figure, curving around them as though protecting it, the bark on the closest side ageing to a cracked, black mass. 

Not wishing to eavesdrop, Kanaya turned away and prodded at a stubby sapling that had been chewed on quite thoroughly by the local fauna. Deer, though seemingly majestic, were a hazard to tender and newly growing things. She narrowed her gaze at the plant, tapping it again to pass the time. It gained a healthy crop of leaves and began to bud, showing off a little under her attention. She said something nice to it, to make sure it knew she appreciated the sentiment. 

With a small thunderstrike, the visitor disappeared, leaving the tree cracked and broken. Kanaya liked the way it looked, disrupting the uniformity of the trees that otherwise grew perfectly under her maintenance. Nevertheless, she put her hands to the poor, broken tree, whispering for it to be brave. Out of the two halves, another twist of new growth sprang into being. Behind her, her custodian buzzed a disgruntled hum, putting a chitinous forelimb on Kanaya’s shoulder. They disapproved of the damage, and presumably also their visitor to the garden.  
“This tree will be strong,” Kanaya said, to soothe them both.  
The sprout leaned toward Kanaya’s hand, as if tracing for the sun.

It was soon evening, and the flowers curled up their petals. Kanaya went inside, to prepare a meal for herself and her guardian.  
“What did the visitor talk about?” she asked, trying to be casual, “You remember the one that,” she paused for a moment, thinking of the best way to put it, “broke the tree.”  
The mothmother chirped an acknowledging note, her forelimbs folding together in a defensive gesture. Kanaya knew that gesture, and it didn’t invite additional comment. She pushed a little anyway.  
“They wore a hood,” she added, “Were they an envoy for somebody? Did they perhaps carry a message?”  
Her guardian buzzed, loud and startling.  
“Well,” Kanaya said, after her thumper had climbed down from her windhole, “Okay.” 

The following summer after the unusual visitor was blazing hot, even more than usual, and the grasses grew yellow on the ground. Her guardian suffered in the heat, confused and upset, and frequently blinded by the intensity of the sun’s rays. Kanaya’s skin grew pale as grey ash, freckles appearing upon her shoulders and arms. She had to usher her companion inside, to save her from the worst of the light, and keep her there with promises and sweet words. Kanaya fumbled, just a little, but the moth trusted her. 

The heat certainly kept Kanaya busy. The dryness of the land led to all kinds of sparks and little fires, soon put out if needed, and allowed to burn if it would help the land grow. The animals panted sadly in the bare shade of bushes, waiting for water.  
“It is only going to be a little while more,” Kanaya tried to reassure them. 

Near season end, when the trees began to turn yellow too, and no amount of taps on their trunks would cheer them up - concentrated effort was their only savior - the figure appeared again.  
Kanaya did not run to them; wary, she walked with a regal tread, the scrappy, heat-worn grass seeping back in with green where she put her feet.  
“Who are you?” she asked suspiciously.  
The figure shrugged, and handed over a curl of paper, no longer than a quick note. Her mother, the Dolorosa, wanted an audience. 

Kanaya gave the hooded figure another look over. They reached out a hand, the palm square and wide, their skin bronze and healthy. With a small amount of hesitation, she took it.  
With the speed of chariots fit to bear a demigoddess, Kanaya was taken to mount Olympus, where her mother resided. The Dolorosa was very beautiful, and glowed brilliantly with the health and divinity of all the deities that resided there. Her space was hung with jade-green silk and gauze, filtering the light to a colour that reminded Kanaya of the orchards she tended at home.

Kanaya did not know when to speak, and though her mouth opened to talk, she didn’t say anything. Her mother beckoned her forward to sit by her side.  
“You have grown,” she said, unsurprised but very fond. “Grown up as well.”  
Her mother’s fingers reached, to lightly touch the sharp tips of Kanaya’s horns, just like her own.  
“I am older since the last time you saw me, yes,” Kanaya said, unsure. She folded her hands in her lap, to stop herself from fidgeting.  
“Yes,” the Dolorosa confirmed. “Old enough to entertain suitors, if you want one.”  
Kanaya folded in her thumbs and tried to pay attention.  
“What if I don’t?”  
Her mother laughed, lightly touching her shoulder.  
“Then you can refuse them.”  
“Oh,” Kanaya said, “I guess that makes it all right.”  
“Shall I make it known that you wish to receive visitors?”  
Kanaya took less than a moment to decide. It was lonely in her keep.  
“Yes,” she said firmly, “Please do.”

Visitors were not quick to come forth, though the flora and fauna looked happy to see her, her guardian braving the long, searing heat and yellow light of early evening to welcome her back inside. A few weeks went by, tiresome and far too dry. The envoy with their bronze skin paused only moments as they looked in before lowering their dark hood. Swarthy and beautiful, their nose long and straight, they greeted Kanaya warmly and offered their hand once more. Their name was Lohannes, though they preferred to be called John, and they met Kanaya on behalf of their friend.  
"I've been told not to explain too much about them," he said, "Sorry."  
He laughed, and asked to see what Kanaya did from day to day. Kanaya showed him the trees, and the way her touch encouraged them. He came back again after six days, to bring a small gift. It was a flower, cold and dead, made of metal and heavy in Kanaya’s hand.  
“You can keep it if you want,” John added, “My friend doesn’t mind.”  
Kanaya put it under her pillow, but it did not help her sleep.

John returned a third time, and this time he brought a companion. The companion said nothing, ominous and quiet in their movements. It was they who caused trees to age and grass to fade into dessicated splinters. The companion, who stood precisely the same height as John, did nothing other than offer Kanaya a grey cloak, bowing at the waist theatrically as they did.  
“What is it?” Kanaya murmured gingerly.  
“It allows you to travel to the realm of the dead,” John said cheerfully, “That’s where we’re going!”  
Kanaya dropped the cloak as if it was burning.  
“I mean, while you’re alive,” he added, dipping to pick it up for her, “You’re supposed to stay alive in there.” 

Kanaya frowned, and slipped it over her shoulders. The world seemed a more shadowy place then, the angles of everything drawn into sharper clarity. She shivered.  
John and his identical companion put their hands together, digging into the fabric of reality and easing the threads apart. Between their fingers was a ragged, yawning gap, darker than anything Kanaya had ever seen, and she paused for an extra moment to steady herself before she stepped forward into it. 

The inside had the glitter of starlight, a bright twinkle made into the rock walls of densely-packed crystals, miniscule tenths of a daktylos long and growing to just barely illuminate the shallow stair. It curved downwards, narrow and in a coil, swiftly turning dark away from Kanaya’s faint shimmer of demi-godhood. The envoys stepped through after her, and it was only after their footfalls on the stone that Kanaya realized she had not said goodbye to her custodian.  
“She’ll remember you,” John said, though the thought wasn’t really warming. Without anywhere else to go, Kanaya kept her head high as she followed the stair, barefoot on the dusty rock. 

The underworld was not colorful; there were shades of green but of rot and lichen, weeds that wavered in the styx’s erratic current and barely tugged toward Kanaya in the crossing. As a guest, the ferryman took no toll from her. Kanaya’s first step on the antiseptic white tile that led over the muck and marsh of the haven the lemures trod was cold and sharp as treading in the grass never was. She bore it as she followed the path, the chill travelling up her shins. 

The pair of envoys stayed behind her, letting her set the pace. At one point John’s silent twin vanished as though they had never been there at all, though their disappearance was not while Kanaya glanced behind. The kingdom of Hades was never a welcoming place, and the ghasts stood as close as they could to the tile, sagging flesh and broken, twisted features rotating unnaturally to watch her pass. 

The gate that met Kanaya and John was a thin, delicate thing that opened easily, carved of something oily and dark and curling that wasn’t wood or metal. Ignoring the creeping feeling of things not worth her current interest, Kanaya instead busied herself with opening the door, pulling hard against the resistance. She was quite able to manage by herself, though it took longer than she wanted. 

John stayed outside, giving her a bright grin.  
“I have to wait here,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “No formal invitation. You’ll be fine though.”  
Kanaya nodded, her mouth dry.  
The hall that greeted her was grand but empty, the surroundings detailed but devoid of sentiment. Great statues of titans and titanspawn, abominations with eight tentacled limbs, chitin, serpent coils or rough, unformed features were placed haphazardly either side of the walkway, jutting impudently into the thoroughfare. 

She was met by another person in a hood, their touch surprising and warm as they took her hand and led her to a room to sit after her journey, to dine at a table lavishly set for somebody’s wedding feast. Kanaya stared at the food, rather than eating it. At the other end of the table, somebody sat down, tall and broad-shouldered as John had been.  
“Hello,” it said, their voice a husky, barely-used alto, “Forgive my forwardness after such a long journey for you, but do goddesses have names?”  
Kanaya hiccuped a laugh, gripping the table edge nervously.  
“I do,” she said, “My mother called me Kanaya.”  
The hooded figure laughed at that, and stood to draw closer to Kanaya’s seat. Kanaya stood up in kind, alert and unsure of the etiquette.  
“You may call me Rose,” they said at last, “Custodian of the lands of Hades, overseer of the dead. But please don’t stand on ceremony.”  
Rose pulled back her hood, revealing her face.  
Her skin was dark, darker than olive-bark, darker still than any number of trees. In truth, Kanaya saw the velvet softness of black flowers that grew in shade, purple toned if anything else. Those flowers were sensitive to sunlight, tender and easily broken. Kanaya felt something stir in her chest, like the quickened unfurling of a bud to bloom.  
“I hope you liked the gift I sent,” Rose said, bringing her hands across her body and steepling her fingers, “I heard tell you liked flowers.”  
Kanaya did not know what to say to that, so she reached for a knife to nervously fidget with it, having nothing else to occupy her hands. The blade was sharper than it looked, and she fumbled. Three jade-green drops spilled upon the table, stone yielding to wood as the surface changed to better suit. The knife dropped with a clatter to the tabletop.  
“It gave me nightmares,” Kanaya admitted, flexing her hand as she waited for it to heal, “But it is very pretty. I kept it under my pillow.”  
A smile crept around the corners of Rose’s mouth, unwilling to settle.  
“I’m sorry that my gift was so unkind,” she said, “Imbued with ulterior motives as it was, I only wished to give you something that would help you think of me.”  
Kanaya shivered at the remembering.  
“Perhaps I could easier remember you now,” she said, “Since I have a point of reference.”  
Rose’s mouth finally kept her smile, crooking up unevenly at either end.  
“Yes, I suppose you’re right. I guess I should explain myself.”

Unwillingly, she twisted her mouth as she thought.  
“I have been instructed to take a partner by the almighty Condesce,” Rose said, “Naturally, if you do not wish to join me, then you are free to navigate to the surface and leave.”  
Kanaya nodded, hesitant and unsure.  
“Am I guaranteed safe passage?” she asked, just to be certain.  
A look came over Rose’s face, one of dread quickly extinguished.  
“I am the _custodian_ of the lands of hades,” she said, and her hands twitched, as though she’d want to pull her hood back up to cover her face, “I do not lord over the dead.”  
Kanaya regarded the table, and then tried to sum up what Rose’s expression was trying to convey.  
“I guess I could think about it,” she said.  
“Yes,” Rose said, “Please do. You are welcome to go anywhere you please until you decide.”  
Kanaya nodded.  
“And the food?”  
Though she didn’t have to eat at all, it was a nice, companionable feeling.  
Rose hesitated, looking toward the door as though they wished to be anywhere else but there.  
“If you wish to stay it will be fresh for the feast,” she said, “However long it takes you to decide.”

The halls that Kanaya now explored were certainly fine, but missing a certain feeling. A lot of the statues seemed sad - or perhaps lonely. She could not bring life to stone, but just as she did with the trees, Kanaya placed her hand upon them, and reassured them, and then went upon her way. Rose watched, but did not say anything. Kanaya’s hand rested lightly on Medusa’s arm, and she almost said something, but didn’t.

When it was time to rest - time was hard to count, but it had been about a day by her mark - Kanaya sought out Rose with a weary tread. The stone floor was still cold, her feet painful from the chill.  
“I was wondering,” Kanaya said, aware of how easily a god’s favour could turn, “If perhaps there was somewhere for me to sleep. Other than perhaps a block of stone, as that is precisely the opposite of what I would want.”  
She smiled, to try and make sure it was seen as a joke.

“Yes,” Rose said, “Don’t worry. Come with me, I’m sure I have a little something somewhere that you’d prefer.”  
Kanaya did, and Rose led her to a room, the hangings fresh and the mosaics detailed. Kanaya wondered if her eyes were playing tricks, or if there really were colours to be found there - though filtered through a dim, encompassing grey. The wood of the bed was silvery, carefully laid out with soft cotton sheets that looked very inviting. Kanaya sat on the edge as soon as she felt it appropriate, letting out a quiet sigh.  
“I will visit you in the morning,” Rose said quietly, her tone almost soothing, “I have a gift, if you’d want it.”  
Kanaya nodded, patting the sheets and smoothing the wrinkles away. When she looked up, Rose had left, the hangings wafting by her movement.  
Kanaya’s rest was deep, and without dreams.

The morning came and Rose did also, waiting calmly to enter. Kanaya, her head still heavy with sleep, started at the sight of her.  
“Should I come back later?” she said, “I doubt I am a good thing to see as soon as you wake.”  
Kanaya shook her head, and sat up.  
“I’m already awake,” she said, bending the truth just enough, “And you don’t need to say that about yourself.”  
Entering, Rose’s gaze dipped to the floor, before she glanced again at Kanaya.  
“I brought you some sandals,” she said, “The floor is cold, isn’t it?”  
Kanaya nodded.

Rose sat beside Kanaya, and the two waited a moment longer before either spoke, awkward in their quietness.  
“I saw you walking here,” Rose started, “I didn’t realize that you would be so unprepared.”  
Kanaya reached out her hands for the sandals, shrugging a shoulder.  
“I’m fine,” she said, “I don’t know if I want to stay, but these will help.”

Rose refused to let Kanaya fit her own sandals, placing them on her feet with intimate ceremony. Kanaya stood, and Rose came up to match, waiting, again, hesitating between thoughts. She gave Kanaya at last a quick nod, and took her leave.  
Kanaya waited for moments before she tried to follow.

The coming days were long, though they did not pass as days at all - It was a languishing, an inevitable circling of the grand home Rose lived in, the empty halls populated with naught but frozen statues caught in frantic anger and looming onto the walkways. But Kanaya found bits of greenery, when she looked - The green fuzz on a statue was moss, finding purchase in the cracks. She put her hand to it, stroked it, and brought some with her when she went back to her room. She started a small pot for it, adding thin, sickly shoots of grass from seeds at the table, and kept it in a pot to brighten her room. The colours of her mosaics grew brighter, warmer.  
At least, Kanaya supposed, the cold no longer hurt.

She tracked Rose to a library after she had taken many stairs downward, and then upward, and then around on a curve, until she was quite lost. When she found the door, it opened with barely a whisper of a noise, and shut itself behind her with a startling boom. Rose turned, scroll in hand.  
“ I didn’t expect to see you here,” she said.  
Kanaya pulled her clothes straight, turning her head to look at the door that had announced her arrival so rudely. Privately she wished it ill.  
“I wanted to see you,” Kanaya said instead. It was mostly true, as the home barely felt like a home at all, and little more than loneliness seemed to live inside those walls.  
“And my literature?” Rose added, “You can read this if you want to, it’s getting rather interesting.”  
She offered the scroll.

Kanaya took it, her grip perhaps a touch unsteady. Casting her eyes over it, she noted the life contained within, brought up short by a long fall and a quick stop.  
“What happens next?” She said with a straight face.  
Rose chuckled, replacing the scroll in place and giving Kanaya an even, calculating smile.  
“Would you really like to see?” she offered.  
Kanaya said yes.

Back they went through the twists and turns, and Kanaya took Rose’s hand so she would not be lost. Up, and further up, to a place where the air was thin and everything took on a miasmatic haze. Figures stood there, occasionally moving, their lamp-bright eyes piercing the fog as their heads lolled from side to side.  
“These are the lucky ones,” Rose said, “They’re harmless.”  
Kanaya still felt a creeping feeling, a clash of pity and of fear. A ghast stared at her, and she matched it, gaze for gaze. Rose squeezed her hand.  
“They aren’t that quick,” Kanaya said, partly for her own comfort.  
“You can’t be quick and dead,” Rose replied. The ghast eventually turned away, apparently satisfied by what it had seen.

They left soon afterward, their hands still joined, though neither said anything of it. Rose began to name the places they passed, the words still strange to Kanaya’s ears. Once again, they came to the room filled with food, laid out as it was before. The air was very still.  
“You are free to leave,” Rose said again, “If I don’t suit you.”  
Kanaya nodded, and picked up a pomegranate.  
“I know,” she said, “But there is something about you, Rose, that I would like to get to know better.”  
She split the husk, and put six of the seeds on a dark plate.  
“I miss my mother,” she said, “And the plants that I tend.”  
She picked up a seed, and swallowed it. Rose took a sharp breath in at the sight.  
“But there are green things here too, and freedom to go where I want to.”  
She ate another, watching Rose as she did, and the way that Rose trembled as she brought her hand to her mouth.  
“You can split the year,” Rose said, her voice barely above a whisper, “I’ll take you back.”  
Kanaya’s hand paused above the plate for moments, before she gathered the last of the seeds and tipped them into her mouth to swallow them whole.  
Kanaya came to Rose then, to kiss her. Her mouth was berry-sweet. 

They took themselves away to sleep, to the wide bed that Rose slept in, cosy and layered with sheets soft and warm. Their kisses were slow, and they talked until they were tired, but did not sleep. Instead they pressed close, skin to skin and breath for breath, taking time to know each other with hands and tongue and teeth.  
They awoke the next day, and both were aglow; both in feeling, and in their divinity, shining when once they had only shimmered. 

From then on, it was a swift six months; The underworld gleamed and glistened to Kanaya’s eyes when before it had been flat and empty, the dull-eyed dead only leaning toward her light. They had stopped growing, but it made sense as to why they yearned for Kanaya’s presence. Her gifts were precious, and their broken bodies awed of it. 

Rose also bloomed, becoming more talkative, her manner now coy rather than exceedingly awkward and shy. They enjoyed a flirtation during the day that would settle into familiarity in the comfort of their rooms, and Kanaya was happiest in the moments that she rested with Rose, side to side, close and comforted.

“It’s nearly time,” Rose said one day, and she put her hands to Kanaya’s shoulders as she sat to paint her eyes and arrange her hair. Kanaya’s breath stilled in her throat at the thought.  
“It can’t be that close,” Kanaya said, trying to make it true. Rose squeezed her shoulder, and bent to kiss her nape.  
“I vowed it,” she said quietly, her mouth close enough to kiss Kanaya’s pointed eartip, “And I do everything I promise to. Kanaya, you are absolutely going to spend time with your family and see the sun.”  
Kanaya sighed, privately wishing that it was not so.  
“You must see it too,” she said, “Please.”  
“I can’t stay,” Rose warned.

As all last days do, they passed in far too short an order. Kanaya was met by John at the gate one day, happy and bronze as ever. He dipped his head politely before his grin came back on show.  
“Time to go back,” he said, full of good cheer, “Did you and Rose hit it off?”  
He waited just long enough to see Kanaya’s face come over with a fond smile at the thought, before he took her hand and led her back to the river.  
The ferryman was waiting, green eyes sympathetic as John and Kanaya came aboard, though they kept silent. The journey was long, Kanaya’s hands a fidget in the familiar dark cloth of her cloak. 

When at last the river was crossed, Rose was waiting. She gave John a nod, and told him sternly to make sure that nobody left the lands of Hades. He laughed, and said that he wouldn’t, unless their song was very good. Rose paused, and took Kanaya’s hand.  
“I expect it to be in the same condition as when I left,” she said curtly.  
With that, they left him on the bank.

Rose and Kanaya ascended the glimmering stair together, Kanaya in front and Rose a step behind.  
“Don’t look back,” she said, her tone warm and perhaps a little mocking, “It’s a custom here.”  
Kanaya did as she was told, though it did not help her nerves. 

At the top of the stair, Rose showed her how to pull the threads of reality asunder, and they stepped through, careful as they went. From the very first step on the ground again, Kanaya was aware that things had changed. Snow dappled the brown earth, trees without green leaves. Rose reached for her hand, to hold it.  
“This is different,” Kanaya said, and walked to greet the trees. After a moment, she unlaced her sandals, and left them on the ground. Her hand did not leave Rose’s, though she caressed the closest tree to beckon the leaves into being.  
“Here,” she said, “touch it.”  
Rose laid her hand on the trunk, though she glanced sidelong at Kanaya as she did. The tree grew, tall and thin like a whip, reaching to the sky. Under Rose’s touch and Kanaya’s tending, the leaves grew sharp; strong, and bitter. The bark buckled and split and healed over again, rough and new, like no other tree before.  
Kanaya turned to match Rose’s incredulous gaze.  
“An evergreen,” she said, “With your help, it won’t die away when I leave.”  
Rose nodded understanding.

They walked a little, and Kanaya tried to re-accustom herself to the place she had left. Beneath her feet grew plants the colours of hades, white snowdrops with moss-green stems. She put her hand to the clasp of the cloak, and let it slip from her shoulders. Rose, beside her, faded out of sight.  
All at once, colours grew sharp and strong and loud, the plants that curled around Kanaya’s toes bursting into riots of hue and shade. The sun rose higher, and began to burn bright. The cloak on the ground was dusty, the cloth of it odd and grainy, too heavy for the season.

Kanaya’s guardian, awakened by the warmth, sleepily opened the door of her home and buzzed loudly at the sight of her, fussing and chirping as they wrapped their forelimbs around Kanaya’s shoulders and shuffled her inside. The cloak in her hands was put on a hook by the entrance, smelling strange no matter what sweet spices hung with it. The moth disliked this, and gave it a snooty glance whenever she passed by. 

Back again into old routine, Kanaya got used to the sharp fruits and hot days, though her hands felt empty and her chest sometimes felt the cold of the white tiles in hades. The trees grew strong, the deer grew bold, and the grass was green. At night, with the metal and dark sheen of the flower beneath her pillow, Kanaya could see her partner in a dream, but only then. It was not a nightmare any more, but a pale imitation of the real Rose, who was much more than the sum of an awkward gift. 

One day it felt as though it was time to put on the cloak, and Kanaya did. Things grew softer, calmer as the trees began to lose their leaves, the Mothmother fretting and trundling sad circles as she anticipated her charge’s leaving. No amount of soft voices could make the parting easier. 

The world felt ready to sleep, and Kanaya pulled the hood over her head and walked abroad in the garden for the last time that year. Rose was there and standing beneath the evergreen, waiting with a touch of impatience in the set of her feet and the twitch of her hands, but she had waited long enough. 

“It’s still here,” Rose said.  
“I said it was,” Kanaya replied.  
The evergreen stood as it had all year, occasionally shedding needles and staying much the same. Though some found it dull, the two gods thought it good.  
“Ready to go?” Rose said, and held out her hand to take Kanaya’s.  
“Kiss me first,” Kanaya said, and pulled Rose closer by the trailing edges of her cloak.


End file.
